


Lie to Me So I Can Smile

by shesalluring



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cloud is a wealthy lord, F/M, Romance, Tifa is a maid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesalluring/pseuds/shesalluring
Summary: AU. Wherein Cloud is the lord, yet he wished he were someone else just for Tifa.
Relationships: Mention of Aerith Gainsborough/Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart & Cloud Strife, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Lie to Me So I Can Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in some kind of blurry post-Edwardian era. Basically, I just wanted to write about Cloud being the heir of an aristocratic family who romantically pursues a particular domestic servant of his. Because why not.

Tifa rubbed her sleepy eyes and closed the door behind her. She straightened herself up, looking as professional as ever—as though the fact she was deeply asleep ten minutes ago weren’t true.

“Goodnight sir,” she said politely as she rushed to help the lord to undress. “You’re later than usual today.”

“You were sleeping, weren’t you Tifa? I’m sorry for waking you up,” Cloud apologised, watching attentively how his maid’s features changed even-so-subtly, ready to tell a lie.

“I wasn’t, my lord,” Tifa assured. Her slender hands reached up to part the folds of the lord’s robe and she took the jacket off his ample shoulders. Cloud laughed then, letting out a sort of tired chuckle that caused Tifa’s heart to stop beating for a fleeting second; making her wonder how many times her heart should go through such unfair and sudden suffering until the lord’s laughter wouldn’t affect her in the slightest. Or at least not that much.

“You’re awful at lying. Did you know that, Teef?” A slight flush made its way to the maid’s cheeks as she smoothed out the attire quite frantically. “I know very well you love going to bed early, and it’s not like I can’t do this alone. There was no need for you to come, really.”

There they were again: those words, spoken in that particular tone.

Tifa’s hands, in process of undoing the tie around Cloud’s neck, stopped abruptly their work and the young lady stared at her lord sharply, her throat bobbing up and down as her lips barely moved. “So you don’t need me?” she whispered in a small, annoyed voice. It wasn’t a question but rather a statement. Tifa was tired of Cloud’s foolish attempts of pushing her away while pulling her closer at the very same time. It was utterly unfair, and ridiculous for that matter.

Cloud stared back at her, visibly startled by the maid’s shushed words. “What? No. _No_ , Tifa.” he quickly said, his hands coming to rest on Tifa’s shoulders and gently pulling the maid back up to him. “I did not mean it that way,” he hurried to explain. But Tifa’s eyes flew to the side in response, avoiding his gaze and staring into the ostentatious room that was Cloud’s. “ _Please_ , believe me.”

Tifa’s lips pressed in a thin line and, after a seemingly long second, she sighed defeated, looking back at the lord with a sudden burst of cheerfulness glowing in her eyes that was too immediate to be genuine. It was not like she was in any position to ask anything from Cloud; she was supposed to help him, to clean after him, and agree with whatever it was that the lord claimed. Tifa was a servant—a commoner, small-town girl from the wrong side of the tracks. And she had long learned that ordinary people should not expect anything from the wealthy. “It’s okay, my lord, I enjoy doing this. It’s the only thing I can really do for you, after all.”

When the words left her mouth, however, they fell upon Cloud like whiplashes. Yet it wasn’t the actual truth behind Tifa's words that irritated him, as much as it was the passive lilt to her voice, the one of someone who’s given up on their own ambitions.

Cloud squeezed the maid’s shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin burning past her clothing and onto the flesh of his palms. Tifa bit her lips in hesitation and the lord failed miserably at restraining himself from taking in her beautiful features, appreciating the way her eyes constantly shifted so not to meet his; how her lips slightly moved, denoting restlessness; the rosy tone covering the skin under her long lashes.

Cloud pressed his forehead against Tifa's, stares meeting, and Cloud’s stomach tingled with a spark of electricity. He only needed to move his head closer, a small bit would do, and their lips would crash together inevitably.

Tifa's beautiful orbs glittered with expectation and the lord swallowed hard. It was just there, he just had to angle his face and—

“Tifa, I…” And it, whatever it was, was broken.

Cloud noticed it and Tifa did, too. In a split second Cloud went from having everything to having nothing left besides the hurt, disappointed look drew in the maid’s features. “I’m sorry, I just—I’m the—”

“The lord, I know,” the younger cut him off quite hostile sounding, moving away toward the wardrobe and hanging the jacket with extreme care. “It’s okay,” she added softly. Everything was always okay with Tifa, which meant it was, in fact, not so right. “I’m going to sleep, sir. And you should, too. Have a good night,” she said before closing the door behind her with a soft thud, never looking back.

With Tifa gone, the huge room felt suddenly empty and dark, causing Cloud to notice the heavy load of selfishness on his shoulders. He could feel the walls suffocatingly close around him, and a small voice whispering coward in his head.

And the lord thought that yes, indeed, he was a stupid coward.

\---

“She’s bloody beautiful,” was the shushed expression that came out of Zack's lips, causing Cloud’s eyebrow to rise and his eyes to leave their seemingly eternal spot on his book and finally look ahead. Ahead where Cloud appreciated the delicate and soft features of his soon-to-be wife, dressed in a sophisticated cream-coloured dress that matched flawlessly with the white of her skin.

There was something utterly hypnotising in the shape of her face and the way it framed her eyes, nose, and mouth: so perfectly well. Cloud would not dare deny it.

“She is,” was all he said before focusing his attention back on the small book resting on one of his hands. Yet Zack was not someone who let things pass by that easily, so when he rested one of his slender hands on his wrist and shook it impatiently, it didn’t take Cloud by surprise.

Cloud let out a weak sigh and did not move.

His eyes, however, were not concentrated in the book anymore but in the classy shoes that peeked out from beneath the elegant dress she was wearing. It was curious, Cloud thought, how her feet seemed to move without a sound for everything he could hear at the moment were the soft giggles that left her small mouth every-so-often, along with his mother and aunt’s. And even though he was not staring, not really, Cloud could picture her white and small hand covering her lips in a feminine gesture, her eyes becoming moon crescents with her smile.

His attempts to appear uninterested, though, were not good enough when it came to Zack, who once again decided that sharing his opinion with him was way more fruitful than keeping it to himself.

“She’s perfect, Cloud,” his friend reiterated as if Cloud hadn’t noticed it all by himself already.

The lord gritted his teeth and his fingers tightened their grip around the book. “If you like her that much then, perhaps, you should be the one marrying her,” Cloud responded angrily. His blood was starting to boil under the layers of cloth and skin and he was losing his manners. He was also not making much sense, but that did not concern him just yet.

And neither did it to Zack, apparently, for the boy threw his head back and gave a harsh, humourless bark of laughter. “And be miserable for the rest of my life, Cloud? No, thank you. Unlike you, I have no desire to marry the perfect woman. I have just about enough loving imperfection.”

Cloud felt the blood rushing in his ears when the words were out, only to be replaced by the dull sound of the book closing. His fingers were wrapped around it with a vice-like grip as he reciprocated Zack’s stare, strong and intense, without an ounce of regret, remorse, or resentment.

The lord squinted his eyes before closing them tightly, trying to catch all the emotions plunging through his body and cool them down because there, seated in front of him, was Zack in his greatest splendour. A man that was everything Cloud would never be: someone faithful to his own values.

Unlike Cloud, as Zack had well remarked, his friend spoke sincerity through every pore of his body; was trusty of dreams and, first and foremost, loyal to his emotions. And for that, Cloud had always admired him.

The breath Cloud took sounded like heavy wind, yet unable to blow away a single one of his troubles. He looked at the beautiful woman standing in the middle of the room, chestnut hair spiralling down her back gracefully in a twisted thick plait. Cloud’s heart squeezed tight in his chest, suffocating him under every pressure for as beautiful as it was, it could never be compared to the way Tifa's jet black hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of silken tresses, tendrils floating around her charming face like a soft cloud.

“Zack—”

“Cloud, son, why don’t you join us? I’m sure lady Gainsborough would appreciate a bit of cooperation from your part—just as much as I would. After all, it’s your wedding we’re planning.” Cloud’s mother suddenly spoke, standing across the room with great purpose.

Cloud turned to stare at her in biter disbelief, his jaw slightly agape in surprise before the rough thought that she still owned the place settled down, depriving him of any excuses.

“Of course,” he frowned in distaste and roused from his seat, casting a side glance to Zack as if checking for his reaction. There was none, and Cloud found himself standing on his feet unsure, worrying his lip. “Look, Zack, I—”

“You don’t have to excuse yourself, Cloud, not to me.” the older interrupted him bluntly, standing up. Zack smoothed his jacket in his usual elegant manner before his gaze fell on his friend. “You should save your justification for someone else.”

Both men stood there, staring at each other, Zack’s eyes confident and sincere, Cloud’s hurt and full of uneasiness. When at last someone spoke, it was none of them.

“Zack, dearie, will you join us for dinner?” purred the smooth voice of Cloud’s mother from the other side of the room.

A charming smile teased its way over the young man’s lips.

“Sure, my lady.” with that he sauntered off down the hall.

\---

Cloud peered through his glasses in the dim light of the oil lamp, squinting at the clock before him that lay open and scattered on his desk. Patches of yellowish hues decorated every space of the wide walls; no loud colours clashed nor crashed the heavy atmosphere—which was, to the lord, a not-so-opportune yet sardonic reflection of the early fear that came to him with his burst into the marriage spotlight.

The dinner proved extremely successful according to his mother: a thoroughly enjoyable experience for all guests. To Cloud, however, it proved more _mal de tête_ than any sort of triumph—especially since the lord did not have a single glimpse of his personal maid the whole day, granted he gave her a suitable day off.

“A day off?” his mother had asked first hour in the morning. And Cloud had dismissed it vaguely, lame excuses falling from his lips only to laugh back at him. And which earned him no more than disapproving as well as sceptical stares from the woman.

Things were not going as smoothly as he had originally hoped.

“You should rest, Cloud. You look tired,”

Zack’s high-pitched tone of voice resounded higher than usual within the hollow silence bathing the office and, for once, the lord welcomed the outstanding difference.

“If only sleeping would let me rest,” Cloud took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, “yet sometimes it’s even worse.”

Lifting the glass of pear brandy to his lips, Zack examined the half-drowned ice clinking inside of it before taking a small sip.

“You see, Cloud,” he began, making himself comfortable on the glamorous chair. “That is what I would call guilty conscience. And I believe, my friend, I might have a slight idea of which is the cause.”

For the first time, Cloud looked up from the clock on his desk. “I did not call you to judge me,” he said, solemnly.

“No,” Zack confirmed, “You called me to talk, to tell you what no one else is going to tell you here. And that is exactly what I am doing at the moment.” Cloud’s eyes wandered from his friend to the window, into the still darkness that reigned outside. “When are you going to make your own decisions, Cloud? You are the lord of this house and so far I’ve only seen you follow each one of your mother’s commands.”

Cloud shook his head, “I may be the lord after my father passed away years ago, but she still owns this place.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I am well aware of your distaste toward her, Zack. I agree she’s not easy to deal with sometimes, but then again it’s also not easy to shoulder the responsibility of ruling and safeguarding the castle. And she might not be the most understanding person, but she’s my mother.”

“That’s endearing. But when are you going to start living your own life and stop living hers, Cloud?” Zack immediately straightened on the chair, his attention fully on his friend. “How many things are you going to let pass by? How many people? I swear, Cloud. I swear that when I see your resignation I wonder if it’s caused because your mother is selfish or because you are a coward.”

The lord had never been the aggressive type, likely the contrary. When child, Cloud was characterised for crying every now and then, hot and fat tears rolling down his rounded cheeks that earned him the mockery of many other children.

Many years had passed since then and Cloud was still easily moved to tears. Within the passing of years, however, Cloud had also experienced the overtaking power of rage surging in every nerve of his body a few counted times; the strength of embracing all that dark and sinister flagging blurring his vision to the point of feeling uncomfortably possessed.

The first contact with his destructive self took place at the age of eleven when his father unexpectedly passed away as a result of a riding accident. Only in company of his childhood friend Tifa had the new and overly young lord been able to cool down.

The soft touch of Tifa's hands had always been soothing, the simple contact of her tiny fingers against his skin warmish and velvety, perpetually sending shivers down Cloud’s spine only to leave him in a peaceful state. Tifa's touch was like wrapping a scarf around the neck in winter, like a sip of fresh water in summer.

And right now, years later, Tifa was probably sleeping, leaving him alone with the burning feeling of rage in the pit of his stomach.

“You know nothing!” he spat violently, hands balled into trembling fists.

“No! _You_ know nothing!” Zack yelled back equally raged. “When are you going to accept things as they are? To call them by their name? When are you going to face the bloody truth instead of running away under your mother’s influence? Let me tell you something Cloud: you better do it quickly, because people get tired of waiting, and I assure you she is not an exception.”

Cloud’s fist collided with the solid wood of the desk, anger filling him so fiercely that he didn't feel any sort of pain.

“And who are you to tell me that?! Do you think it is that easy?” Cloud finished his last question with a growl, glaring straight at his friend.

Zack’s lips tightened in a tense and flat line yet he did not flinch even once. And the lord felt caged under his hard stare, standing up abruptly from his seat and pacing uncomfortably around the room.

None of it was easy. And perhaps the problem was that by “it” Cloud was not really sure about what he was referring to. Or perhaps yes, but it was wrong. As a point of fact, it was sinful in more ways than one and Cloud was not ready to deal with that. But then again, nor was he to feel remorse and there he was, with his secrets exposed to the light for Zack to see. Not that Zack needed any sort of light to see through his friend; he probably knew Cloud better than the lord himself did.

He let out a deep sigh and, for the first time, Zack could see lines of age etched around the lord’s eyes. Cloud let his body fall back to the chair, feeling suddenly exhausted, and accepted the glass of brandy that Zack was offering him.

He generously sipped the strong drink, needing an outlet for his anger. The action, however, only left him with a bitter taste in the tongue that slowly travelled down his throat and settled inside of him like the worst of plagues.

“Love,” Cloud whispered, so softly that it almost got lost in the dull silence of the office. “It is nothing like it should be.”

Zack stared absently at the office’s luxurious décor. “Not long ago someone told me,” he said, trying to focus his attention back on the conversation. “Someone told me that love is the cold chapping your face, and a tear burning down your cheeks.”

The lord took another sip from his drink, and let out a dry chuckle. “Poetic. Who was the artist?”

The satirical tone Cloud had employed settled in a silence interval that was too thick to make him feel comfortable, and when he looked ahead the lord was met with Zack’s troubled stare.

“It was Tifa.”

Cloud breathed. He felt suddenly numb, and the air around him had grown unmistakably colder. Tifa's enticing face appeared in his mind’s eye for a moment, and the cluster of repressed emotions he had been holding inside the past few weeks dissolved into a sudden and intense flood of tears.

Zack might or might not have attempted to say something after that, yet the only thing the lord noticed as he sighed deeply, wiping the tears off his face with his sleeve, was the far-from-reassuring grip the older provided to his shoulder before walking up to the door and silently leaving the room.

\---

The air was thick with crushing emptiness and everything was bathed silvery moonlight, evoking the dreamlike atmosphere of a life much more peaceful than the one he had to live. It was like the night father died, all over again; Cloud wandering through empty hours and corridors late at night. The only substantial difference is that this time the lord aimed for a particular door.

If anyone were to find him here, first floor half-past three in the morning, Cloud would be in deep trouble—never a quick one to blurt out credible defences.

The night was quiet and blissful, an ironic juxtaposition of events. All his thoughts had faded into the silence of the night, only a feeling of dread pilling up inside him, thick and rubbery, sitting somewhere near his stomach in a tangled-up knot.

Cloud came to a sudden stop and stared at the old wood of the door that stood in front of him, Zack’s words still ringing in his ears. _It was Tifa_.

The lord was vaguely aware of how hard his heart was beating, of the dull ache pounding through his skull as his hands gripped the knob. With the door open, however, everything seemed altogether secondary to the fact that he could see Tifa deep asleep in the furthest side of the small room.

Cloud stared down at her pale figure, obliquely illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window. She seemed almost a wonderfully, perfectly carved statue, a painting of angels—her delicate, soft features silently proclaiming the beauty of masters of old.

Her breathing was steady and peaceful, and the lord grimaced with a pain he could not locate anywhere inside his body. _What an idiot you are, Cloud_ , he thought bitterly, sitting on the mat, the bedsprings clanging under him.

The lord could sense the heat coming from Tifa's thin and small body—could smell that wildness to her fragrance he could never quite figure out. Sometimes lavender, other pine trees. Tifa smelt like autumn and going back home, of freedom and wide-open spaces.

Anything but servitude.

Cloud had tried his best not to think about her—which was easier said than done because it crept out every time his mind started to wander. Every time he turned around, there were billowing clouds of soft dark hair floating across creamy skin, or those spinning whirlwinds of red, playful eyes glaring at him that sparkled with a lifetime of stories, and then he was right back in the memory.

He knew better now. Running away wasn’t an option anymore; his mind would just not let him go through with it.

Cloud reached over and stroked his thumb over Tifa's pointed cheek, letting his eyes drift shut, fingertip pressed against the skin. Cloud shivered at the touch—it pulled at something deep in his stomach.

“What are you doing here, sir?”

The lord’s eyes opened, his hand starting to move away, but Tifa moved quicker; she gripped Cloud’s hand and held it there, in the empty space between their bodies. It didn’t go unnoticed, though, the strength his servant was applying on his hand as if afraid he was going to run away once again. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked again.

Cloud was too caught in the moment, in the electrifying feeling Tifa's fingers caused on his skin to properly answer—and perhaps he wasn’t actually listening, either—so he mumbled a sudden “Are we friends?”

Tifa looked over at him, eyebrows raised and lips pressed together in clear confusion. She just studied him, sort of passively, chest moving in a slow roll that came from lazy, borderline sleepiness. At that moment, everything started to make a horrible kind of sense.

Tifa was sad—had been sad for a long time.

“Sir, you should—”

“Cloud.” The maid shut her eyes, exhaustion clear in her expression—Cloud could tell it wasn’t physical, rather mental, like she’d been through this a thousand times. “Call me Cloud, Teef.”

“You should go, my lord. This is not appropriate.”

“Tifa I—”

“Don’t.” Tifa's face went dark, and she drew the corners of her mouth up in an irritated expression. “Don’t do this—you have no right to,” she grunted. “We stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Tifa let go of his hand and shook her head before staring out the window. Cloud sucked in deep, even breathed. The last statement did not come as a surprise, not at all—inwardly, he was sort of expecting that answer. But it didn’t hurt any less.

“I’m sorry,”

“Stop it, Cloud.” It didn’t sound as it should—not this hollow, almost angry. “You always do this—are always sorry. But a minute later you’re doing it again, acting without caring about consequences, without stopping to think twice which other people’s feelings are. And then you appear, wearing your best suit and apologetic smile and say you’re sorry—as if that were just enough. You’re so selfish.”

Cloud didn’t really know what to say. There was an indefinable ache in his chest, and he was overwhelmed by an acute sense of panic—and, maybe, that was also the reason why he babbled that he loved her all of a sudden.

“What?” Tifa said.

“I love you,” Cloud blurted without much thought. “I love you.”

The silence that followed felt careful and deliberate. Tifa's profile did not change much, although her jaw went a little more pronounced—and the lord wondered if perhaps he was the only stupid one that did not know.

“What are you doing?” Tifa asked then, staring at Cloud, eyebrows perked up.

Cloud did not think about it, he just leant in, leant down, and pressed his mouth against Tifa's.

It couldn’t be described, at all, the sensation that rushed down his body. Tifa's mouth was soft on his, and the lord realised then that it was always about so much more than touching her. It was about submission—about the vulnerability of the moment.

Tifa licked in, smooth and sweet, breathing all cool and soft against Cloud’s mouth. At some point, the lord moved his mouth from her lips to her jaw to her throat; trailed the tip of his nose along the line of Tifa's neck, smelling her scent, the distinctive fragrance of a dreamlike future.

Heat spread out through him in waves, and he knew his pulse was picking up, could sense it moving in his fingertips if he really focused. There was a fluidity to their movements that was beyond Cloud’s comprehension—like filling a space he did not know was empty. When Cloud kissed her again, it was like a wall had come down; some last invisible line had been crossed. 

It was minutes, perhaps, that felt more like seconds when Tifa pulled back; the feeling of a hand on his chest. Her unruly mass of ebony hair was tossed all over the pillow, mouth full open to gasp for air. Cloud ran a finger through the blade of her shoulder, where beads of sweat were starting to collect.

Tifa shut her eyes as if giving into the feeling of Cloud’s touch. “I don’t want you to,” she admitted, biting at her bottom lip worriedly, fingers going pasty and white as she gripped Cloud’s shirt.

“I won’t,” Cloud whispered against the curve of her neck. “You’re not getting rid of me yet,” he confessed, voice going rough. His fingers traced a path down her arms slowly. “Where do you wish to live?”

Tifa shivered, “The sea.”

“The sea, of course.” Cloud’s lips dragged along the line of her jaw. “You will make an incredible fisherwoman,” he shushed in her ear.

Tifa chuckled, arms circling Cloud before she buried her head into his neck.

“We’ll manage, I’m certain.” he lied. Tifa moved uncomfortably in his arms and he could tell she was forcing herself to stifle any twinges of sorrow.

The images that came to his mind were real and tangible: he and Tifa, a small house next to the ocean. No pompous dresses, no arranged marriages. The lord hugged the frame of Tifa's body, startled at all the ways they fit together as he ran a hand down her dark locks. He stared out the window, watched the faint blue line on the horizon get lighter and thicker by the hour. It was a warm, spring morning he realised as a tear streamed down his face and got lost into her long, long hair.

“We’ll manage,” Tifa's muffled voice stated with all the faith and hope she could muster. Cloud tightened his arms around her shoulders, pressing her body closer.

He was smiling, and he was pretty certain that Tifa was, too.


End file.
